


Injury

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: “Think you can use your magic touch on some other parts?”
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Series: Vergil Surana [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615327
Kudos: 11





	Injury

**Author's Note:**

> For ZevWarden Week 2020 on tumblr, prompt fill for Day 6: Injury °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

It's a moment, like any other, where your body just _can't_ react in time to defend itself, where any beaten or trained reaction is a bit too late, where instinct is just too slow. 

Or, you're simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nevertheless, the enemy attacks, you are too slow to react, being swarmed in foes, busy with keeping yourself alive and not injured, _too much_ , when the world around narrows to your ragged breath, the rapid pounding of your heart and blood rushing through your veins. Busy with searching for vital, unprotected spot on your enemy, one you could use to get rid of _who_ or _what_ you're currently battling. You grunt when the bones of your arm seem to rattle with the impact of your weapon, meeting rusted metal, the stench and twisted looks of the creature you're fighting overwhelming for a second too long.

Don't look at them too closely, _don't_ , they're monsters, don't let their blood touch you. 

You grit your teeth and leap back, or try to leave some space before you'll strike again, but your step falters, as your feet land on uneven ground that seems to give under your weight and for a split of second you feel weightless, the weird sensation in your gut telling you, that you made a grave mistake and you flail your arms, trying to hold onto something, _anything,_ but it's useless, you're already falling, the clash of battle and cruel laugh of a monster, snaps of branches and sharp cuts on your skin, the last things before pain happens and the air is punched out of you and you see nothing.

* * *

He sees him fall and the blood in his veins seems to freeze. He can't follow to see, _to catch him_ , darkspawn blocking his way. Quickly using his temporary distraction to tear through his shield, tip of it's sword slashing onto his unprotected abdomen, fortunately only grazing the leather and stopping on light chainmail. One of spoils they found at the frozen temple, ancient parts of armors they decided to use. Vergil drops to crouch as it swings its sword at him again, aiming for his neck. The creature snarls, looking almost disappointed it doesn't have him impaled on it's sword and he snarls in an answer, just as he uses his left arm to call in for ice, the right throwing a handful of dirt in its face, and it works, few seconds he'd need to distract it and _finish_ it.

And when he steps at the edge of the cliff he almost falters, hesitating, because he's not ready to see the broken body below. He scans the slope, searching and tensing when he can't see much, because of the density of bushes and almost jumps when Alistair steps beside him.

“Here,” he gestures at something below, “I think it's his dagger. He can't be too far,” he grimaces, but his face says it all – he's just as worried as Vergil, the feeling of dread at what he'd find uncomfortable in his throat, so he just nods. It's a sharp way down from there, so they find a place they can go down relatively safely and he's there, shallow cuts from the bushes littering his skin, but no limbs in weird angles, no twisted neck. 

Vergil’s eyes are glued to Zevran's chest. 

Slowly falling and going up and he kneels heavily beside his body, hands hovering, but not sure what to look for, slowly, gently touching Zevran’s head and searching for injuries. 

An open gash at the line of his hair is staining the gold with sticky crimson and the smell of it makes his fingers tremble. He grips them under his skull, _heavy_ , and he hears Alistair talking, but he doesn't _hear_ him, swallowing heavily, staring at closed eyes, biting the inside of his cheek and not even trying to stop the bleeding on Zevran's head with magic-

_Worse, he'd make it worse._

He tries to open the hatch on his belt with the most essential things, to get out the slice of cloth to press it into the wound, fingers stained in seconds with warm blood.

“We have to move him,” he mutters, gently wiping the line of the injury, letting the cloth soak most of the blood.

“What if his-”

“We have to move him,” he snaps, looking up at Alistair.

Alistair's jaw works and he looks grim, but determined when he nods. “I'll take him, just help me with his legs and-”

“Stay where you are!” Morrigan's voice carries from above and they look up, branches obscuring view of their companions standing on the edge of the cliff. Then, a big crow soars down, easily changing form, as she slides closer.

“Move,” she huffs and Vergil hesitantly does as she tells, knowing she's much better at healing that he is, even if she isn't exactly a healer. Her hands glow softly as she moves them above Zevran's body, muttering something under her breath.

After few tense moments she leans back, dusting her knees.

“Spine seems intact.” Vergil breathes heavily through his nose sagging a little to the side, “No broken bones, no internal bleeding, only what you can see here,” she gestures at cuts and bruises,“not sure about his head, but it looks worse than it is.”

“Head wounds bleed the worst,” Vergil murmurs, as he shuffles closer, feeling the buzz of magic under his skin, as he lets his muscles boost with it, sneaking one arm under Zevran’s knees, other around his shoulders, the weight of unconscious body more than he was prepared for.

Alistair leans on the other side, peering into his bowed face.

“Let me-”

“No-”

“It'll be easier for me to carry him.”

He swallows the protest as he looks up at Alistair's face, the genuine expression making him hesitate under the weight of it and the body in his arms and he knows he's right, but he doesn't want to let go. He has to though, for Zevran's sake and he does, after long look into brown eyes, gently pushing Zevran in to Alistair's arms.

He hovers near Alistair all the way up, looking for easier way to climb on rocky, uneven ground, hands up ready with using force shields to push Alistair up and he sees the sweat gathering at his temples, grip on the body in his arms tightening at every waver of his step. But his mouth is set in thin line and Vergil’s chest feels a little lighter, the stone in it dropping almost entirely, when Zevran starts to stir, then stiffens slightly in Alistair’s grip. 

After he squints up at the man carrying him, he mumbles something in Antivan. Vergil sees him blinking as in haze and a soft groan leaves his throat, as more incomprehensible words tumble past his lips and he hisses when he touches the side of his head. 

“He’s awake,” Alistair announces helpfully, and Zevran grunts with slurred “I wish I wasn’t.”

Vergil stops when they’re at the top of the hill and stays near when Alistair slowly drops Zevran near a tree, so he can lean back on it. He crouches beside Zevran, sighing quietly with relief at the clarity in his eyes. Voicessly, he conjures some ice, then warms it with a bit more focus until it starts to melt and he can wet the bloodied cloth with it.

“Where does it hurt the worst?” He asks and reaches to the wound on Zevran’s head, cupping his jaw to tilt his face to the side. He sees Zevran’s fingers flexing slightly at the push on skin near the cut, but his expression stays neutral.

“It can’t be so bad if I feel bruises everywhere,” Zevran huffs a strained chuckle, that changes in a soft inhale of air when Vergil’s cold fingers press into his skin. “It should lessen the swelling,” Vergil murmurs, focused on the wound until a hand tugs at his other arm.

“Think you can use your magic touch on some other parts?” Up close he sees that Zevran’s easy smile is strained, “Not that I’m complaining with what you’re doing, my face _is_ important.” He adds hastily, when Vergil frowns. “It’s just, I feel I hit my tailbone really bad.” He shifts with a groan, his head falling forward into Vergil’s touch. “Not right type of pain, if you ask me.”

Vergil’s hand slips to Zevran’s nape, squeezing once before he retreats and slowly stands back, mindful of letting Zevran lean back on the tree trunk, gazing up at him. He offers Zevran’s his palm, “If you can stand I’ll help you get off the armor,” Zevran grips his hand and Vergil has to step back when he wobbles a bit under Zevran’s weight on his arm. “And maybe patch you up as well, if you ask nicely.”

“I’ll ask you in the nicest way if it gets me your hands on my back,” Zevran smiles weakly and they start walking towards their companions, one of Vergil’s arms sneaking around Zevran’s waist, fingers hooking on one of the belts. 

“You could watch where you step, next time,” he says calmly, shifting when Zevran sways with a gasp, face leaning so close his nose brushes his cheek, “Are you saying I usually don’t? But the thrill of tumble is so addicting, and- ah wait!” He clings to Vergil’s side when his hand slips from his hip.

“If you can snark you can walk by yourself,” Vergil grumbles as he makes to step away, but finds it hard with Zevran still holding onto his arm. 

“I promise no tumbling down hills, not one bit.” He holds Vergil’s gaze, golden eyes wide and Vergil sighs, shoulders sagging slightly.

“You’re not allowed falling down the hills.”

“What about falling in bed, am I allowed that?” Zevran’s smile is impish and the caked blood on his face makes it slightly disturbing. It also makes the corners of Vergil’s lips curl up and he shakes his head, pulling at Zevran’s belt once more.

“Given your luck you’ll crack your head for good and that’d be it.”

“Hey, my luck is one of my assets, it won’t let that happen.”

Vergil doesn’t comment, letting the light chatter continue as they slowly close on the place the rest of their party are waiting. 


End file.
